Sister Carter and Sister Newkirk
by Canadian Hogan's Fan
Summary: Ever hear the one about the two nuns who walk into a bar?


_AN: Many thanks to inhonoredglory for inspiring this and to jodm for her fact checking._

"Boy, if this doesn't beat all," Carter muttered, fiddling with his white coif as he hurried down the Hammelburg pavement. "I've done some pretty strange things in my time, but this sure takes the pie."

Newkirk tugged at his wool belt, eying a navy-coloured suit in a shop window. "Ah, leave off. This isn't exactly a lark for me either. Let's just get to the Hauserhof, get that list of German double agents from Pinocchio and get back to camp before Schultz or the Guv'nor miss us."

Carter shook his head, watching two blonde frauleins move out of his way. "I bet none of those guys ever had to dress like nuns to get past checkpoints without being searched!"

The Londoner adjusted his undershorts, which chafed against his tunic. "Well, if you hadn't opened your ruddy mouth when the Guv'ner asked for ideas for a disguise, we wouldn't be in this sticky wicket now, would we?"

"Well, he didn't have to listen to me," Carter grumbled, wrinkling his nose as they passed a group of alleycats fighting over a pile of fish heads. "What would my mother say if she could see me now? We're Methodist!" He gestured to the ring on his left hand. "How am I going to explain this? It's on me tighter than Winnie the Pooh when he got stuck in Rabbitt's door.(1) What'll happen if I can't get it off?"

Newkirk lowered his voice when a paunchy businessman and hausfrau raised their eyebrows at them. "What about me? I'm Church of England! Me mum would disown me if she knew about this." He scratched at his pistol's leg holster. "Argh, my blooming leg's getting on me wick. It won't stop itching!"

A group of boys in patched coats raced past them, screaming childhood curses. Newkirk wobbled, muttering under his breath when his foot caught on his tunic.

The American grabbed his friend to keep him from falling. "Boy, I sure hope Pinocchio isn't late. I don't want to spend an extra second like this."

Newkirk glanced over his shoulder and spotted two Luftwaffe corporals staring at them. "Better keep it down mate. The last thing I feel like doing is explaining to those Krauts back there why we have hairy upper lips."

Carter put his palm to his face, wincing as stubble scratched his skin. "Darn. I knew my razor was getting dull. We should ask London to send some new ones."

The Englishman risked another look. The corporals started jogging after them and had gained ground rapidly. "Hurry up, or the curtain'll have to go up on this show."

"_Guten abend_ sisters," a voice rumbled behind them. "It's a lovely day for a walk, isn't it?"

Newkirk halted, his voice cracking. "Yes it is."

The shorter of the Germans brushed past him, sending a hot wave of anxiety through the younger man. _Blimey, his muscles are huge._

"Forgive me, but you look familiar." The corporal's blue eyes twinkled. "Have we met before?"

Newkirk's throat tightened when he tried to speak. _Ruddy hell. _

"I don't think so," Carter squeaked. "I'm Sister Marlene. This is Sister Adelaide."

The little man bowed. "I'm Corporal Bittner." He motioned to his companion, who scratched a flared ear. "This is Corporal Meckel."

Newkirk gave them a weak smile. "Charmed. Now, if you'll excuse us, we're in a hurry. We're supposed to meet someone."

Bittner's cheeks tightened as he laughed. "This person must be very important to make you rush on a day meant for us to stop and savour life's beauty." He inhaled deeply. "I love the smell of dew on the grass, don't you? It reminds me of watching my mother hanging sheets out to dry when I was a boy."

"Oh yes," Carter rasped. "We love dew, don't we Sister Adelaide?"

Newkirk nodded. "We smell it all the time at the convent. Now if you'll excuse us."

The German shook his head. "I'm sorry sisters, but I can't allow that."

Newkirk gulped. "Oh?"

"This area's seen an increase in sabotage activities in the last few days. It's not safe for women like yourselves to be out unescorted."

The Londoner cleared his throat. "Thank you for your concern, Corporal, but we can manage on our own."

Bittner's hand clamped down on the nun's arm. "Please, allow us to take you wherever you're going. I'd feel better knowing we could protect you if something happened."

Carter let off a nervous laugh when Meckel grabbed him the same way. "Well, if guiding two helpless nuns would make you feel better, then guide away."

Ruddy perfect, Newkirk thought.

Bittner beamed. "Marvelous. Now, where are we going?"

Carter pointed down the street, lined with dozens of brick buildings. "The Hauserhof."

The little German frowned. "That's an odd choice, considering its reputation. It's better suited to servicemen than civilians."

"They make a good cup of tea," Newkirk replied. "You don't have to take us there if it's a problem for you, though."

Bittner's smile returned. "Not at all. Let's be on our way." He motioned to his companion. "Well, Meckel, Seebeck and Wittrock will have to wait a little longer for us to relieve them of guard duty."

Carter felt his throat go dry. "Do you boys work at a prison camp?"

Meckel nodded. "We're from Luft Stalag Nine. Kommandant Shmeckler sent us to town to run a few errands for him."

Newkirk stared at a red stain on the wall next to them. _Bloody charming. _"Do your prisoners give you much trouble?"

Bittner laughed. "Not very often. Some attempt escapes from time to time, but we catch them before they get very far."

Newkirk bit his lip, fighting a smirk. "What about those 10 boys who escaped last winter?"(2)

The guard scowled. "How did you know about that?"

Newkirk breathed deeply, savouring the smell of fresh rolls from a bakery across the street. "I heard about it from another nun. We never heard if anyone recaptured the prisoners though."

Meckel stiffened. "We did everything we could until a Major Hochstetter turned it into a Gestapo matter."

Carter stifled a giggle, remembering Colonel Hogan's close shave with the Gestapo officer at the hands of Johan, Oscar Schnitzer's nephew. "Well, I'm sure he handled the situation perfectly."

Bittner fidgeted. "Do you get out of the convent much?"

Newkirk shrugged. "When we have to go shopping or mail a letter." He pointed to a weathered building on a cul du sac when they reached the end of the street. "There's the Hauserhof. As you can see, we've arrived safe and sound. Don't let us detain you any further."

His escort tightened his grip on the Londoner's arm. "Please allow us to join you."

_Marvelous,_ Newkirk thought, letting himself be led. "My, you're awfully nice boys to do all this. You shouldn't, though, if you're keeping someone waiting on our account."

Bittner waved the idea away. "Never mind them. Ensuring your safety is more important. Besides, Mother Johanna, who ran our school, taught us never to turn our backs on someone in need."

Carter lowered his gaze, attempting to appear demure. "It's nice to know there's chivalry left in the world, especially since I've met so many rude people lately. Just yesterday, an old woman knocked me over and stole my loaf of bread when I was at the market."

Meckel clicked his tongue. "What is this world coming to? I remember a time when even non-believers had respect for women of the cloth."

Newkirk sighed, almost coughing as a truck belched a cloud of oil at him. _Well, it could be worse. We'll be alright a__s long as these goons don't get wise to us._

He jerked forward when his foot caught in the fabric.

Bittner laughed, righting the nun. "You don't have your feet broken in yet, do you Sister Adelaide?"

Newkirk fought back cold panic while equally cold steel slid out of its holster and down his leg. _Oh Lord no. I want to come home a whole man._

Meckel's bushy eyebrows rose. "Is something the matter?"

Newkirk held his breath as the gun landed against his foot, his stomach settling when it didn't fire.

Bittner frowned. "What was that?"

The Londoner's mind raced. "Nothing. My garter's just come loose."

The guard blushed and let Newkirk go as he turned around. "Well, take a moment to adjust yourself."

Newkirk bent to pick up the gun and swore as an elderly couple headed for him. He bowed as the gentleman tipped his hat.

"Are you alright now?" Bittner asked over his shoulder.

Newkirk fiddled with his tunic. "Oh yes. You know how it is with garters. They're so unforgiving."

The guard's cheeks reddened as he turned back, his gaze settling on the ground. "What's that?"

Newkirk's heart pounded. "What's what?"

He pointed. "There's something under your tunic."

Newkirk stepped aside. "Oh this? I nudged it with my foot. It isn't mine," he added when Bittner picked it up.

The guard studied it and gave his companion a look that made Newkirk's palms sweat. "How odd. This looks like the type of gun the Underground uses." He handed it to Meckel and gave Newkirk a reassuring nod. "We'll make sure it's disposed of properly. We wouldn't want it falling into the wrong hands and hurting someone like yourself, after all."

Newkirk grinned weakly, his blood pressure lowering as he motioned to the hotel door a few feet away. "Let's go in. I'm terribly thirsty."

Meckel stepped forward and held the door open. "After you."

The smell of stale beer and cigarettes assaulted them as they stepped into the lobby. "Thank you," said Carter. "I'm looking forward to sitting down. My feet are tired."

"I just hope they have a table available," Bittner replied, leading them into the dim dining room. "It's very difficult to get one during the supper hour."

Carter grabbed Newkirk's free arm while the Englishman's breath left him. More than 30 sets of military, SS and Gestapo eyes scrutinized them from their checker-cloth tables. Bloody hell, Newkirk thought.

Bittner frowned. "Is everything alright?"

Newkirk swallowed a lump in his throat. "Oh yes," he croaked. "I think I see a booth in the corner by the kitchen."

The corporal put his arm around the nun's shoulders and pulled 'her' forward, ignoring a group of army officers glaring at them while they leaned against the wall's mahogany paneling.

Carter raised his hand to wave at two red-eyed Hauptsturmführers at a table across from the army officers, who stared at his face and clothes longer than was polite. The bald one rose, gripping his table. "Hey!" he slurred. "What are you doing here?"

The North Dakotan looked at his friend, who gave him a helpless shrug. "Getting something to drink."

The Hauptsturmführer belched. "Go somewhere else. This is no place for a woman, especially an ugly one whose parents couldn't marry her off."

Meckel fingered his belt. "Please let us pass sir."

The Hauptsturmführer snickered. "Please let us pass sir, please let us pass sir," he whined. "You sound like a cowed schoolboy. Did she beat those manners into you, or did she give you some other _special_ treatment?" He laughed when his companion made an obscene gesture.

Carter balled his hands into fists. _Boy, I'd love to let him have it. I've never met a guy who deserved a sock on the jaw more._

Meckel's cheeks burned. "It never hurts to be civil to someone, Hauptsturmführer, even if it might prove difficult for you."

The officer scowled. "Watch your mouth! Nobody tells me what to do, especially not some stupid Luftwaffe corporal."

Meckel started to speak, but, thinking better of it, led Carter away.

The Hauptsturmführer raised his fists, hiccuping. "Come back here! Don't you have the guts to fight? Or did she beat that out of you too?" He sneered as Meckel bristled. "You're a spineless little papist, aren't you? Never met one who…." His eyes rolled into his skull as he toppled onto the table, upsetting a beer stein into his comrade's lap.

Carter sniffed, giving the drunk's foot a discrete kick. "That, Corporal, is why you should beware of strong drink."

The other patrons tittered as the pair joined their companions.

"Thank goodness that's over," the American said, settling into the chair Meckel pulled out for him. "A few more cracks like that and I would've flattened him."

Newkirk mouthed 'watch it' as the guards' eyes widened, then hastily petted his coif when they looked at him to him. "Uh," he murmured, his mind searching for a plausible nun's name. "Sister Gretchen at our convent made sure we all know how to defend ourselves in case of emergencies."

Bittner gave Meckel another odd look. "What a most unorthodox idea. Although I suppose she's right. You never know when some poor misguided soul might try something foolish." He fingered the worn tablecloth. "Sister Gretchen, is she with the convent in Dusseldorf? I think we met many years ago. Perhaps you could re-introduce us when we take you home. I'd love to discuss her self defense techniques further."

Carter's heartbeat quickened. "You can't," he blurted. "I mean, this Sister Gretchen's in Berlin. She was at our old convent."

The little German's expression darkened. He started to speak when two female voices filtered in from the lobby.

"My goodness, it's dark in here," one said, its pitch rising. "I can hardly see where I'm going. If I fall down and hurt myself, it'll be your fault!"

"And it'll be your fault if you worry yourself to death, my dear Sister Felda," a French accented voice replied.

"What on earth?" Meckel muttered, turning to see a stout and a willowy nun marched into the room.

"Is this really necessary Sister Claudette?" the tall one whined. "Surely you can get a cup of tea at the Kaffeehaus instead? We might miss the sisters at the station if we stop here."

The chubby one sighed. "I told you, the Hauserhof makes the best cup of tea in Hammelburg. Why don't you try some? It would do your nerves good."

"I don't believe it," Newkirk muttered. "Two more ruddy nuns."

Carter leaned over. "You know what fruit stand owners say about nuns. They always travel in pears."

The Englishman rolled his eyes. "You'd better hope they don't spot us. I think we met them at that dinner for the orphanage last Christmas."(3)

Sister Felda recoiled under the patrons' stares. "There's so many people here. Are you sure we can't go to the Kaffeehaus instead?"

Sister Claudette shook her head. "I may have taken a vow of poverty, chastity and obedience when I became a lay nun, but I never took a vow saying I'd give up a good cup of tea."

Her companion frowned. "That had better be all you're having."

Sister Claudette clicked her tongue. "Sister Felda, why do you always think the worst of me? I'm not having anything other than a cup of tea." She and winked at a red-jacketed waiter. "Besides, you can't blame me for enjoying the odd glass of red wine. I'm French. Every French child is weaned on wine."

Sister Felda wrinkled her nose. "France should've kept you as far as I'm concerned. Why they ever accepted you into our convent is beyond me. No one else gets so silly after they've had some wine."

The French nun folded her arms. "Are you going to stand here all day nagging me about my shortcomings or are you going to sit down?"

Sister Felda glared at a table of sergeants beside them, who shifted uncomfortably in their seats. "Where do you propose we sit? All the tables are full and none of these gentlemen are willing to rectify the matter."

Sister Claudette pulled her toward the bar. "Come, there are two stools over here."

The other nun's narrow face paled. "Surely you jest. We can't sit there."

Sister Claudette hopped onto a stool with ease. "Why not?"

"Why not?" Sister Felda sputtered. "Why not! Good heavens, Sister Claudette, have you lost your senses? Only women of ill repute sit on stools in places like this."

Her companion giggled. "I doubt any man would mistake us for one of those. When was the last time you saw a harlot wearing a habit?" Sister Claudette to the bartender. "Two cups of tea. Only make mine red, if you know what I mean."

"What are you whispering about?" Sister Felda snapped.

Sister Claudette patted the seat beside her. "I asked him for an extra lump of sugar. You know how I hate unsweetened tea." She turned to the laborer beside her. "See what I mean? She has absolutely no faith in a person's word."

The patrons went back to their drinks as the nuns settled in. Meckel looked at his comrade. "Perhaps we should offer them our seats. They'd probably feel more at home with Sisters Marlene and Adelaide."

"No!" Carter and Newkirk shouted. "I mean, they're the reason we came here," the Londoner continued. "They drive us crazy in the convent with their arguing. Please don't tell them we're here."

Bittner nodded. "Of course." He motioned to a passing waitress. "Would you take our order?"

The blonde gave him a sweet smile. "Of course."

The German returned it. "Good. My companion and I will have some beer."

Newkirk fought to keep his tongue in his head_. Boy, I haven't seen a bird like her since I met Rita. Look at those lips, and that beauty mark on her chin._

She put a hand on her hourglass figure and to Carter. "What would you like?"

"Just some water," he rasped.

She turned to the drooling nun. "And for you?"

Newkirk gave her his best Ronald Coleman stare. "I'd love a cup of tea."

Her pencil paused. "Are you sure? I'm afraid our tea's rather weak."

"That'll be fine." He motioned for her to lean closer. "Tell me, what's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?"

Her blue eyes darkened. "If I wanted a lecture, I'd start attending mass again!"

Carter kicked his companion's foot when the guards scowled. _Now look who's blowing it._

Newkirk's watched the waitress's tight skirt as she marched off. "And she seemed like such a nice young lady too."

Bittner narrowed his eyes. "Sister Adelaide, can you tell me who founded the Benedictine Sisters of Providence?"

The Englishman's gaze darted to his friend, who looked as helpless as he felt. "Uh, Saint Helen?"

The muscular man's eyes gleamed. "Of?"

"Of Troy?"

Bittner laughed as Meckel and he rose, drawing their guns. "That's the most asinine thing I've ever heard! Now come along quietly. We'll let the Gestapo handle this."

Newkirk's throat tightened as the Germans around them reached for their weapons. _Oh __bloody hell, we're in for it now. _

Bittner glared at Carter. "Give me your weapon." He snorted. "Don't look so innocent. We figured out the truth when your friend dropped his gun. We simply decided to wait for you to do something stupid before we acted."

"Sister Claudette!" All heads turned in the direction of Sister Felda's screech. "I knew it! You're drinking wine!"

The stout nun shook her head. "It's fruit tea. Surely you can tell the difference, since you're always sticking your nose into everybody else's business."

Sister Felda wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Of course I can. That's how I know it's wine."

Sister Claudette hunched over her cup and saucer. "So what if it is? Is it a crime to enjoy a little once in awhile?"

Sister Felda snatched the china away. "Sister Gretchen said you can't have it anymore after what happened at Easter!"

Sister Claudette grabbed the taller nun's arm. "It wasn't my fault I smelled like a winery! The bottle spilled on me when I fetched it for communion."

Sister Felda pushed back. "A likely story."

The bartender tapped Sister Claudette's shoulder as they wrestled. "Excuse me sisters. Would you lower your voices?"

"Give it back!" she snapped. "What I do is none of your business!"

Sister Felda tried to pull away. "Have you no sense at all? I'm trying to help you! Sister Gertrude would be furious if she found out you'd been drinking again."

The bartender tapped harder. "Excuse me! I'm going to have to ask you to leave if you don't stop making a scene."

Sister Claudette pinched her companion's flesh. "You're a bully you know! A big bully!"

"Stop it!" Sister Felda yelped. "You're hurting me."

The bartender looked around, unsure of his next move. The nuns continued to struggle until the cup slipped and clattered on the counter.

"Oh," Sister Claudette moaned. "Look what you've done."

"It's all your fault," Sister Felda huffed. "I wouldn't have dropped it if you hadn't been so violent."

Sister Claudette put her hands over her ears. "Leave me alone! You're always picking on me, you catty peahen."

The bartender pushed them apart. "Sisters, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Sister Felda stiffened, realizing he was there. "Why? Isn't our business welcome here?"

The bartender twisted the rag in his hands. "But..."

She raised her hand. "Never mind. You've made your feelings perfectly clear." She rose. "Let's go Sister Claudette. I think we've made ourselves enough of a spectacle for one day."

Sister Claudette sniffled, glancing at Carter and Newkirk as she slid off her stool. She stopped, her eyes widening. "Look, Sister Felda, there they are."

Carter started to bolt when Meckel's gun jabbed his spine.

Sister Felda put her hands on her bony hips. "Where who is?"

"The nuns we were supposed to meet at the train station. They must have arrived earlier than we expected and came here for refreshments." Sister Claudette hurried to Bittner. "Thank you sirs for taking care of them."

He shook his head. "I'm afraid these aren't the sisters you're looking for. They're imposters."

Sister Felda tugged the French nun's sleeve. "See, this is really none of our business. Let's go."

Sister Claudette covered her mouth. "Oh dear, there's been a terrible misunderstanding. You see, Herr…"

"Corporal Bittner."

"Well, Corporal, these are two very 'special' young men who've been in our orphanage's care since they were small. From time to time they like to borrow our clothes and pretend they're one of us. They must have snuck out and followed us into town. I suppose they've been bothering everyone."

Sister Felda's jaw dropped. She started to speak until Sister Claudette stepped on her foot.

Meckel's eyebrows rose. "I've never heard of men living with nuns before. Don't you worry about your safety? Surely the hospital in Hadamar would be a better place for them."(4)

She draped herself over Newkirk's shoulders. "Oh, we couldn't bear to part with them. We actually got special permission from our Mother Superior to continue looking after them when we should have sent them away. They're quite harmless really."

Bittner's expression became puzzled. "They seem so normal."

Sister Claudette patted the fake nuns' shoulders. "They're good little actors, but they really aren't well." She wrapped her arms around Carter. "Come now, dears. You've had your fun." She yanked Newkirk out of his seat. "You too."

Bittner raised his hand. "Just a minute. Who founded the Benedictine Sisters of Providence?"

She sighed. "Benedetta Cambiagio Frassinello. Now, Corporal, what year was Saint Ubald of Gubbio canonized?"

"Uh," Bittner stammered.

Sister Claudette grinned. "There you have it. I'm not sure what you were trying to prove by asking me silly questions, but I think I've made my point."

Bittner replaced his gun. "Indeed. You have our deepest apologies."

She nodded. "That's quite alright. It's us who should be apologizing for your inconvenience."

He bowed. "Not at all. Good day, sisters."

Sister Claudette pulled her charges along. "Good day gentlemen." Her grip tightened when Newkirk tried to break her grasp. "Now, now, there's no point in struggling. You couldn't get away even if you were the best of escape artists."

"And you called us crackers," he muttered. "You're the one who ought to have her loaf examined."

"What are you complaining for?" she hissed as they passed the last table of Gestapo. "I saved you and your friend didn't I?"

The Londoner paused before entering the lobby. "Yeah, but why?"

She gave him a coy look and opened the front door. "Let's just say I'm in the good deed department."

"Well, you're in for it now," Sister Felda squawked once they were outside. "You just lied to those corporals. That's a sin in case you've forgotten."

Sister Claudette glanced over her shoulder before crossing the street. "I'll worry about my penance later. Now where is that nice young man we saw earlier? He asked us if we'd seen you." She pointed to a short figure in a blue jacket and black cap loitering by the bakery. "Ah, there he is. Yoohoo!"

Newkirk released his breath when LeBeau wheeled around. "Where have you been?" the Frenchman hissed.

Carter laughed. "It's a long story."

"Did you at least rendezvous with Pinocchio?"

Newkirk shook his head. "He never showed."

Sister Claudette glanced back at her lagging companion and hurried them away. "I believe I have something for you gentlemen." She reached up her sleeve and handed Newkirk a slip of paper. "That's why it pays to have a special armband for just such an occasion."

He smiled. "I'll be the Prince of Wales. I never would've guessed you were Pinocchio."

She winked. "That's what makes me perfect, no?"

"Why are you walking so fast?" Sister Felda whined. "Slow down! You know I can't keep up." The group stopped when she grabbed Sister Claudette. "There," she said, breathing heavily. "I won't have anymore of this running business. And why are you whispering? What are you doing?"

Sister Claudette gave her an innocent expression. "Giving this nice young man a shortcut so he can deliver our friends to their convent."

Sister Felda sleeves flapped in the breeze while she folded her arms. "I thought that corporal said they were imposters."

Sister Claudette's stubby fingers pinched Carter's cheeks. "No, they're exactly what I said they were: 'special' young men this boy is looking after."

The willowy nun narrowed her eyes. "How could you know that? He didn't say anything about it to me. "

The French nun snorted. "Well, maybe he didn't want you spreading his business all over the countryside."

Sister Felda gasped. "I'm not a gossip!"

Sister Claudette's cheeks puffed out. "You are too!"

"I'm not!"

"Are too!"

"Thank you very much for the directions," LeBeau interjected. "We'll use them well."

Sister Claudette linked arms with her countryman. "I think you're a darling young man to be so concerned about these ladies."

Sister Felda'seyes widened. "Have you no shame? You're acting like a tart!"

She beamed. "I don't care. I think he's sweet."

LeBeau squirmed out of her grip. "We really must get going."

Sister Claudette turned to the clock tower behind them. "Good heavens, we'd better get to the station. The new sisters are probably wondering if anyone's ever going to collect them."

"Oh dear," Sister Felda groaned. "I knew I shouldn't have let you stop at that dreadful hotel. Now you've made us late."

Sister Claudette started down the street. "Well, you were the one complaining you were so thirsty you were going to faint."

Sister Felda's shoes resumed clicking as she hurried away. "I wanted to stop at the Kaffeehaus, but no, you said…"

Newkirk chuckled. "Good riddance. All that chatter's enough to drive a bloke batty."

LeBeau scowled. "At least one of them wasn't trying to snuggle with you. Can you imagine me, with a nun?"

"Well you're with two of them now," Carter piped up. "And you know what fruit stand owners say."

His English friend cleared his throat. "The sooner we get back, the happier I'll be. There's just one thing I'd like to know, Carter. What gave you the barmy idea to name me Adelaide? I would've picked something like Greta for Garbo or Marlene for Dietrich like you did."

"I knew a girl in school named Adelaide." The North Dakotan reached into his back pocket, his cheeks colouring when he grabbed a handful of robe. "Too bad I don't have her picture on me. Anyway, she always wanted to be a chorus girl on Broadway, then marry a rich guy. I don't know if she ever did either though; she had a thing for hoods. She used to go out with a guy whose dad ran a craps game in their garage…."

LeBeau checked his watch. "C'mon. Let's go before Colonel Hogan sends out a search party."

Carter grinned. "Say fellas, since we've got a ways to go before we get back, why don't I tell a few jokes to pass the time? Did I ever tell you the one about the two nuns who walk into a bar?"

His companions groaned as they hurried down the road back to camp.

(1) From the 1926 children's book Winnie-the-Pooh.

(2) Reference to a previous story of mine, _Who's Afraid of the Gestapo?_

(3) Reference to a previous story of mine, _A Gift from a Sergeant._

(4) The Nazis used Hadamar's psychiatric hospital to perform mass sterilizations and kill the mentally and physically disabled.


End file.
